Noctisardor Bypass baelor

uktark stops.
it is not gradual. it is a hard, abrupt halt that snaps the line of their patrol. his head lifts, nostrils flaring, and then—without warning—he lunges.
a deadfall log shatters beneath his weight. rotten wood explodes as his jaws clamp down and tear, splinters flying while his shoulder drives through it again, and again, until the thing is nothing but wreckage ground into the snow. his breath comes ragged, steam pouring from him like smoke from a burn pit.
he stands there heaving, chest tight, eyes blazing with something uncontained.
why? he snaps, the word torn raw from his throat. his head jerks skyward, then down again, teeth grinding. why must they slip from my fingers?
moondancer—gone.
satori—disappeared.
lousine—vanished.
tikigak—dead.
ayovi—turned away by choice.
his voice drops, breaks at the edge, rage folding inward where it has nowhere left to go.
i do everything right, he growls. i give. i protect. i bleed.
he turns back to blackfell then, finally, eyes dark and unguarded.
and still—they leave.